Young Writers Society

my favorite has been forgotten
and been gone a long time
heard only by people who
weaze and breath only fine wine
sticks of burning light
high up in the creamy nights sky
remind me of when i saw stars
for the very first time
the trees bend and twist
reaching for something they
can not find deep with in
the crevasse and fissures of my mind

It's interesting, but I'm not sure I understand what it's about, or how the title relates to it.

i wrote it at a theater (one called theater 3) and couldnt think of a name